Wednesday

flush with fold




Over the cape close to the window. O its spare and then burlesque. The coming age is frighteneding of its breath. Bearing its seed rifted by the burlap. Nothing happens with a reason and come to its calico the maid ganders .


But of the saunter and the clad fortune the body's glove is mist and wrangled by fortune's weave, the cleavage promised bliss but tasting tallow met nothing but the air principle dusk
~ Jill's fortune is made telling tea leaves and tawdry crests or orient ballgowns backward tongues treachery to a free T. A sister's gelid revenge is no overwoman for her behaving.


Mona's fraternity is continuing
. She's worked the libidinous sodality
to the ground
hemmed in by skirts and paws.
She won't bend for any rule breaker .


Nor keep her mits in the ground.